


Come On, Baby, Calm Me Down

by chucknovak



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-05-28 18:05:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15054785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucknovak/pseuds/chucknovak
Summary: a series of discrete hurt/comfort one shots of various IT pairings. based on the lyrics, "come on, baby, calm me down, you're the only one who knows how" from the song "Skeleton" by The Front Bottoms





	1. Bill and Richie

**Author's Note:**

> I'll add more characters and pairings to the tags as I go, but for now those are the ones I know I'm writing (:

Richie could tell something was up the moment Bill called him asking to come over. He sounded off, even over the phone, and Richie’s suspicions had been confirmed when Bill walked through the door surrounded by a cloud of gloom, barely managing a tiny smile as he kissed Richie hello. He also had an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. Richie didn’t push though; he’d been Bill’s boyfriend for a year and a half, and his best friend for way longer, so he knew no one could (or should) push Bill into anything. They’d been cuddling on the sofa in the Toziers’ basement for at least an hour before Bill finally spoke up.

“I b-brought it up again.”

Richie nodded, holding Bill tighter, as he could feel him going even more rigid in his arms. “How’d it go?” he asked gently. Bill scoffed.

“Dad t-told me I’m c-c-cruel and ki-hicked me out for the night. M-m-mom juh-just c-cried.” Richie could hear the strain in his voice, could see his throat bob up and down as he tried his best not to cry. Richie rubbed his shoulder; he didn’t know what else to do. Bill had periodic Georgie-related meltdowns throughout the years, and though Richie was glad Bill always came to him with them, he felt like a horrible friend and boyfriend, as he knew there was nothing he could do to really make it better, nothing he could say to bring him back.

“They’ll come around eventually,” Richie said. “Your mom just needs time.”

“It’s been s-s-six y-years, Rich,” Bill whispered, almost seething. “They’re n-n-nuh-never gonna f-find him!” Richie pulled him into his lap as the tears came pouring down his cheeks. He held him tight, Bill’s hands clutching desperately onto Richie’s shirt as his tears soaked Richie’s shoulder. “All my d-dad ever told me that y-y-year was that he was d-duh-duh-dead, th-that I sh-shouldn’t l-luh-look for him, that it w-would o-only hurt my m-muh-mom. But they c-can’t have fucking f-f-funeral?” he fumed. “He’s n-never gonna get a pr-pr-proper b-burial. Wouldn’t th-they wanna at l-least g-give their suh-suh-son a funeral?”

“I’m so, so sorry baby,” Richie whispered into Bill’s hair, placing kisses across his head, neck, cheeks – anywhere he could reach. His stomach turned knowing he couldn’t do anything to change any of it; Bill’s parents would never see what they had seen in those sewers, what Richie knew Bill still saw in his dreams.

“He didn’t des-serve to d-die in that _p-pl-place_ ,” he sobbed. “The l-least I can d-d-do for him is get him an actual n-nice funeral.”

“He’ll get one,” Richie vowed, gently guiding Bill’s face out from his shoulder to press kisses to his hot, wet cheeks. “Maybe not this year, maybe not for the next twenty years. But he’ll get one if I have to plan it and pay for it myself. And I’m gonna be right there next to you the whole time, holding your hand.” Bill sniffled and let Richie wipe his tears away from his eyes. He was quiet again for a moment, letting Richie kiss the dried tear tracks on his cheeks as new ones formed.

“S-swuh-swear?” he asked, his breath hitching.

“I swear,” Richie said, cradling Bill’s face in his hands and looking unwaveringly into his eyes as he made his promise. Bill leaned in then, kissing Richie slow and deep, with purpose.

“I love you,” he whispered against Richie’s lips.

“I love you so much. I’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” Bill replied, the ghost of a smile tugging weakly at his still trembling lips.

Richie couldn’t bring Georgie back. He couldn’t make the Denbroughs face the fact that their son was never coming home. But he could hold Bill, could give him all the love he had to give, and no one could take that away from him or make him stop.


	2. Mike and Stan

Stan was sitting on his favorite bench in the park in Derry’s town center, appreciating a goldfinch as it bathed in the stone bird bath. It was a calm day, the sun-warmed air intermittently cooled by a gentle breeze. It was a Sunday, Stan’s favorite day of the week – everyone was quieter on Sunday, more relaxed. Most of the people who bothered to leave their homes did so to attend church, which usually ended around noon. It was a little after two in the afternoon, and Stan had the area of the park mostly to himself. The only sounds to be heard were the birds’ songs and the distant hum of cars on the road.

That was, until Stan heard a familiar voice shouting, “Sorry! Excuse me! Watch out!” It made Stan jump, but it wasn’t the volume of the voice that had his heart pausing in his chest – it was the sight of his boyfriend speeding down the road, his bike wavering from side to side. Stan immediately noticed that Mike wasn’t wearing a helmet. He _always_ wore a helmet, he knew how much it worried Stan when he didn’t. It was just as Mike was zooming out of Stan’s sight that he noticed the small white and brown figure sat in the basket of Mike’s bike. It made Stan’s heart sink.

He immediately leapt to his feet, making quick work of getting his helmet on and taking off on his bike to follow his boyfriend. It took him a moment to see where he had gone, but he caught sight of him a way’s down the road. He followed after him, trying his best to catch up while also not steering himself into traffic.

His pursuit led him to the Derry veterinary hospital. He parked his bike next to Mike’s and rushed inside.

The waiting room was small, and the sterile smell did little to mask to the scent of the animals crammed into the small room. But none of that mattered when Stan saw Mike standing helplessly outside the door that led to the check-up and surgery rooms. “Mike?” Stan asked gently, placing a hand on Mike’s broad shoulder. Mike jumped slightly, but when he saw who it was he practically collapsed into Stan’s embrace. “What happened?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he guided Mike to sit down in one of the chairs. Stan was aware of all of the eyes on the two of them, but by that point in their relationship he was used to the stares; though they sometimes bothered him, in that moment he didn’t care about them, didn’t care about anything other than making his boyfriend feel better.

“M-Mr. Chips,” Mike sniffled, wiping the tears away from his cheeks. “He came home swaying from side to side and then, then he… he just dropped.” His voice broke on the last word, and he buried his face back in Stan’s chest. Stan rubbed his back, at a loss for words.

“I’m so sorry, baby.” He whispered it, but he still caught a middle-aged woman with a cage at her feet looking at them distastefully. Stan shot her a stone cold glare; he wasn’t about to take that shit when his best friend was clearly in pain. The look made the woman look away, clearly embarrassed that Stan hadn’t looked away ashamed.

“I’m not even allowed to go in with him,” he sobbed. He then pulled back, the sight of his red and puffy eyes shattering Stan’s heart. “Stan, I-I don’t think he was breathing.” His voice was barely a whisper, and it shook like the disturbed surface of a body of stagnant water. Stan swallowed heavily, willing the tears welling in his eyes back. Though it made his heart hammer in his chest, he leaned forward and kissed Mike’s lips gently, hoping his actions might do better than his words. Mike gasped as he did so; Stan hated PDA. Mike smiled gratefully at his boyfriend, and though it was shaky, Stan knew what he was trying to convey. Stan saw the lady shake her head out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment it made his stomach turn; but when Mike nestled back to Stan’s embrace, he knew it didn’t matter. _Fuck her,_ he thought.

“Mr. Hanlon?” Mike and Stan’s heads shot up as the doctor called Mike’s name. They stood together, Stan following a bit behind Mike as they walked up to the doctor. Stan never let go of Mike’s hand as the doctor apologized, told him it was simply too late, that nothing could be done. Mike’s eyes looked far away as he listened to the doctor, but they came back and turned first confused and then cold as the vet said it seemed as though Mr. Chips had gotten into some rat poison.

Stan stayed by Mike’s side as he called his parents and sat on the curb outside the vet waiting for them, holding his hand and rubbing circles into his skin with his thumb. “We don’t own any rat poison,” Mike finally said, breaking the stony silence. And that really did make Stan sick to his stomach.

“You don’t think…” he trailed off. Mike nodded. “Do you wanna file a complaint? Tell the police?” Stan suggested. Mike scoffed.

“I’m sure my dad will, but I don’t know how much good it’ll do,” he said sadly. “I’m not too worried about it, though. People like Bowers get what’s coming to them eventually.” Stan wasn’t so sure he agreed with that, but he didn’t say as much. He just kissed Mike’s knuckles and pulled him closer, letting him rest his head on his shoulder while they waited.


	3. Richie and Eddie

The room was eerily quiet as Eddie cleaned the cuts on Richie’s face. Normally Richie would be making jokes, even after an encounter with Bowers – hell, _especially_ after an encounter with Bowers. He should be bragging about how Eddie “should see the other guys,” should be asking Eddie to kiss it better, making obnoxious kissing noises that Eddie would pretend to be grossed out by. But he just sat on the toilet seat in Eddie’s bathroom, his eyes downcast toward the tile floor.

Eddie tore open a Band-Aid, the sound cutting, too loud in the silence of the room. Even the unscrewing of the Neosporin cap sounded aggressive. Eddie gingerly lifted up Richie’s taped-together glasses in order to reach the cut below them. Richie’s jaw clenched. “Rich?” Eddie asked quietly as he carefully placed the bandage across the delicate bride of Richie’s nose.

“Yes, my love?” he replied, trying out a smile. But he made eye contact with Eddie, and no hint of a smile reached his eyes. Their normal, vibrant blue color even looked duller, more subdued.

“Are you okay?”

“You mean other than getting my face mashed in?” Richie scoffed sarcastically. “Yeah, other than that I’m just peachy.” Eddie rolled his eyes, but he knew Richie was just protecting himself with the snark.

“It’s just,” Eddie huffed, “you’re being… quieter than usual, that’s all.”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Eddie’s hands stilled at that as he looked Richie in the eye. Eddie had barely ever heard Richie’s voice that soft. “What?” he asked, taken aback.

“Isn’t that what everyone wants?” Richie continued, his voice beginning to waver. “Doesn’t everybody just want me to shut the fuck up? I mean, hell, it’s the reason I get myself beat up all the fucking time. Maybe I wouldn’t have such a huge bullseye on my fucking forehead if I could just learn to shut my fucking mouth. And these glasses, I hate these fucking glasses.” His voice broke on the last word as tears fell from his eyes. Eddie was so surprised that at first he didn’t know how to react, but as soon as he got past the shock his arms were around Richie’s thin, shaking shoulders.

“Richie, what the hell?” Eddie said. “It’s not your fault Bowers beats on you, why would you think that?”

“Because, everything’s my fault, Eds!” Richie exploded, shoving Eddie off of him and wiping furiously at the tears that wouldn’t stop coming. “God, I’m such a fuck up.”

“Did Henry say something to you?” Eddie demanded. “I’ll fucking kill him, I swear to god.” Eddie’s blood boiled with rage; how dare anybody make his best friend feel so worthless? Richie was his favorite person in the world, though he’d scarcely admit it, and he couldn’t stand to see him so broken up, couldn’t bear to hear the self-deprecations that fell from his quivering lips.

“He said a lot of shit, Eddie,” Richie laughed bitterly. “It’s not what he said, it’s…” he trailed off, biting his lip to keep it from shaking. Eddie took his hand in his own, but he didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to cut Richie off, or make him feel forced to talk. “I told my mom that it was Bowers who broke my glasses, but she didn’t believe me,” he admitted, his voice growing smaller and smaller. “She said I should take responsibility and stop being so reckless. She called me ungrateful, told me that it’s not fair to her and my dad that I’m so careless with the things they work hard to buy for me.” He was still crying, his breath hitching every few words or so as Eddie rubbed soothing circles into his skin with his thumb.

“Richie,” he whispered helplessly. “I’m so sorry. You’re not reckless, and you don’t deserve all the shit you get – from Bowers or your parents.” Richie shook his head.

“No, Eds, she’s right,” he said, letting out another miserable laugh. “That’s the worst fucking part: she’s _right_. Why should she believe me? Why should she trust me? It _was_ my fault, I was being a stupid asshole, egging him on. I should’ve just kept my fucking mouth shut when he started up with his shit, but no, I’ve always gotta shoot something back at him, I’ve always gotta act like some tough fucking asshole even though I’m not shit. It always ends up this way, and it’s my fault.”

“Richie, it is _not-_ ”

But Richie kept going, not able to hear what Eddie was telling him. “And they’re not buying me new ones this time, so I’m gonna have to walk around for who the fuck knows how long with fucking tape on my fucking glasses, like I wasn’t enough of a target already. And I’ve gotta look at this tape every fucking day, maybe for _years_ , and know that Bowers did that to me, and that I fucking did it to myself, too. God, that’s gonna tickle his fucking pickle, seeing the proof that he did something to me that I have to wear every fucking day. It feels like a fucking brand on my ass, except it’s on my face, so it’s even worse. I’m his fucking bitch, Eds, and this tape is just a reminder of that. God, he’s gonna beat on me even more because of it. He’s gonna break ‘em again, in even more places, and then I won’t be able to see him beating the shit out of me, Eds, I couldn’t even fucking _see_.” He was full on sobbing then, and pulled Eddie into him, finally allowing himself to be comforted. Eddie held him tight, rubbing his back.

“If Henry even _looks_ at you the wrong way, I’ll fucking wring his neck,” Eddie vowed.

“Well, I appreciate that, my adorable little white knight,” Richie replied, pulling back from the embrace, “but I don’t think there’s much you can do about me being a huge disappointment to my mother. Hell, I’m a disappointment to everybody, maybe I should just walk up to Bowers and ask him like a gentleman to bash my-”

Every word Richie spoke had Eddie’s heart beating faster and faster. No one talked about Richie that way to Eddie, and that included Richie. So he shut him up – by leaning forward, taking his heated cheeks in his hands, and kissing him.

It was a bit awkward, as Richie was mid-ramble, and it tasted like tears, but it was what Eddie had been dreaming about for years. When he pulled back, Richie’s eyes were saucers, his mouth stuck in the same slightly-open position it had been in when Eddie kissed him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Richie said quietly. Eddie thought he was gonna reject him, that he would run out of the house screaming, but he caressed Eddie’s face with one of his hands. Eddie shrugged.

“You were trash talking the most important person in my life,” he grinned shyly, his voice raw with emotion at the admission. Richie looked at him in awe.

“You’re the most important person to me too, Eds,” he whispered, his words almost just a breath. Eddie smiled.

“Can… can I kiss you again?”

“Can’t get enough of this trash mouth, can you?” Richie grinned. Eddie rolled his eyes, but he was just glad the tears had finally stopped, that Richie’s smile finally looked genuine again.

“No, no I can’t,” Eddie grinned. He wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck, kissing him more deeply than before. Richie leaned in eagerly, but hissed and flinched away as soon as their lips brushed.

“Sorry,” Richie blushed, “the schnoz is still a little sensitive.” He tapped lightly on the tip of his bruised and bandaged nose.

“Oh, right, fuck, sorry,” Eddie chuckled nervously. He leaned in again, but this time he was much gentler as he pressed his lips to Richie’s. They were a bit chapped from the dried tears, and Eddie had to crane his neck at an odd angle to avoid bumping Richie’s nose, but it was perfect, and he wouldn’t have traded it for the world.


End file.
